Wednesday, September 16, 2009

When the time is right

If there is one thing that is true about life, it is that you cannot rush it. God knows I've tried. God knows, too, that I've failed. Everything happens for a reason, and good things will come in time.

Which brings me to my most current realization: Every job that I apply/interview/audition for will not be the right fit. Only one of them will.

I just have to make sure that the right job and I find each other.

I also may need to work on toning down my language. I just noticed how many F-bombs I dropped in the last post. Good thing my mom doesn't read this blog. Not that she would be offended, but she would definitely say, "You're better than that," or "Try harder."

And she's right.

This situation I'm in reminds me of a visit I got from my mother when I was in my second semester at A&M.

It had been a really rough semester so far, and I was flat broke after buying books and replacing some boots that got screwed up in a particularly heinous rainstorm. I also lost my graphing calculator, and didn't have the dough to replace it. So my mom drove up to College Station to spend some time with me and to help with taking care of my situation. She took me to lunch to cheer me up, too.

My mother's visit had been just the intercession I needed to pull myself out of my funk. She didn't know it, but I had been seeing a therapist and was treating some pretty severe depression after I lost my only uncle the previous October.

We had so much fun hanging out with one another, and my mom did something she doesn't do very often, which is surprise me with something she knows that I want, but don't need.

I had coveted a little plush Reveille VII, and my mom presented it to me that day just to cheer me up. It was like there was a light at the end of the tunnel after that. I knew that everything was going to be OK because I had people in my life like my mom.

It was time for my mom to make the trip back to the Houston area, and I gave her a kiss and a hug before I exited the car. As I was hoisting myself from her sedan, the littlest bit of my first tattoo peeked up from my pantsline.

My mother was furious. She said "Dammit, [Miss Dallas]! I thought you knew better!"

Even though the tattoo itself was a something I had done to have a permanent reminder of what my mom means to me, I felt ashamed. I felt like I let her down. I felt like all of my shortcomings were immediately transparent and that everyone could see through me.

My mom called me after she returned home and we both calmed down. Now, she still didn't understand the tatt, but she still accepted me. She let me know that it didn't matter what changed on the outside, but as long as I'm the same person on the inside, as long as I never gave up on myself, I would be OK.

I am hoping that this same attitude applies right now. I'm going through a difficult time, yes, but I've got people that I love and who love me back, and as long as I don't give up, things will work out for the better, when the time is right.

1 comment:

When I showed my mom my tattoo (my junior or senior year in college?) she cried. Seriously, she cried. My tattoo is like half an inch high and maybe two inches wide on the inside of my left wrist. It is in Hebrew. Anyway, she cried. And then my punishment was that I had to be the one to call my dad and tell him. He didn't talk to me for like a month. Then, the next time I went home, he wasn't really talking to me. Me and my dad were sitting in the living room, not talking. So my mom came up to me and picked up my wrist and kissed my tattoo. And she said, "Bob, it's a part of her now. We have to love it." And then we all laughed so hard. So, the end. I understand your mom's reaction! And I felt the same way when I made my mom cry!